Behind the Panda
by Daio
Summary: Saotome Genma is a martial artist... and a wretch. He's untrustworthy and has thieved, lied, cheated his way through life, mostly from luck than anything actually resembling skill or cunning... and yet... Wait. Where was I going with this?


He didn't get any sleep that night. He didn't feel like it, anyway. Staring blankly at the rafters of the ceiling seemed a much safer alternative than succumbing to the unpredictability of dreams and what guilt they promised. As it was, he barely managed to keep his conscience from bludgeoning him while awake.

He shifted slightly, dislodging the sheets that had barely covered his modesty, and surreptiously glanced to the side. She seemed sound asleep. A hint of beautiful ivory skin showed through the peaks and valleys of the comforter. A pang of something shot down from his chest and landed heavily in his stomach - whether of love or remorse, he did not know, only that it grew more unbearable while he gazed upon her; the soft play of mottled moonlight upon her skin, the ethereal halo of deep crimson, a red that spoke of low embers and lush roses – the quiet, sighing exhalations, the relaxed, gently arched fist resting near her head.

He unfolded an arm from behind his head, carefully, hesitantly. As he reached towards her, intending to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, another feeling joined the first, overpowering in its strength: he did not deserve her. He dropped his arm abruptly.

"Genma, you fool..." he muttered to himself.

"Mm…?"

He froze and then relaxed, silently berating himself. _She doesn't have a clue…_Yet somehow, this thought, meant to be reassuring, was anything but. "Nothing, dear. Go back to sleep," Genma whispered softly, having returned to staring at the rafters.

She snuggled into him. "Glad you're back, honey…" she trailed off with an unintelligible murmur. With each rise and fall of her chest, he hated himself even more.

_Genma, you fool._

* * *

><p>Genma awoke to a tangle of sheets and the smell of her in his nostrils. He sat up slowly, situating himself on the edge of the bed. His head ached with the dull throb of an ill night's sleep.<p>

The bedroom door opened, slowly, tentatively. Even in that simple movement, he could read his woman's delicate touch all over it, and the feelings surged up again, angrily, volcanic – until he slammed a lid shut on them, refusing to acknowledge them. He gritted his teeth.

"Genma?" Nodoka's soft voice wafted across the room. She was beautiful, dressed in a simply designed kimono, her hair pulled back in that girlish pigtail of hers she sometimes wore, head cocked to the side.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"You haven't come for breakfast yet…"

"Have you eaten already?"

"No, dear, I've been waiting for you."

"… I'll be right in."

"Okay. This is rare though, you not running to the table. I know how your stomach gets!"

She left with a giggle.

He showered. Dressed.

Breakfast was a quiet affair of seasoned fish fillet, eggs, and a particularly sticky brand of rice that Nodoka adored. Afterwards, they sipped on a very smooth, mellow tea.

"This tea is wonderful, Nodoka."

She smiled. "The brand is quite good, yes."

Genma rolled another mouthful around slowly.

"Where's the boy?" he asked casually.

"Over at the Sawakita's, dear. You know how fond he is of their cat." Nodoka paused, gracefully tilting her cup towards her mouth, eyes lost in thought. "Genma… I was thinking we should enroll Ranma into one of those advanced private schools for children. He's so bright, and so creative; I believe he could adapt wonderfully." She tilted her head, a happy smile breaking out. "You should have seen him just yesterday while you were out looking for work. It was really only finger paint, but he came to ask why everybody's fingerprints were different, and he just seemed so observant—"

"Nodoka." Genma frowned. His hand curled around the porcelain. "I don't think an advanced school would be proper for Ranma."

She halted, smile slowly fading. "What would you suggest? If you don't think Ranma's capable of such a curriculum, you obviously haven't spent enough time with your son, and that would be nothing but your fault. With all the time you've spent away from us recently—"

"Nodoka—"

"—you wouldn't realize that your own son is practically a genius. So energetic and thoughtful—I say that the world is open for him! He could be a doctor, a—a lawyer, a politician—"

"Nodoka—"

"So don't you dare say he wouldn't be able to manage an advanced education—"

Genma tensed. "Nodoka!" The porcelain cup cracked, splitting across the tension like a knife through a taut rope. "I am well aware Ranma is blessed," he slowly started, wishing he hadn't lost his temper. He set the cup down carefully. "I—I plan to take him away and focus his talents onto something better, greater than the simplicity of a desk job."

Nodoka froze, still as a statue.

Genma licked his lips, his pulse beginning to pick up. He knew he was beginning to pass the line of no return—he could not even begin to predict how she would react. Negatively, most likely. And that was an understatement in the extreme.

_I will make her see._

Another explosive rise of roiling emotions—

It was a titanic fight of epic proportions to wrestle the doubt down, the fear, his want, his _need_, to protect Nodoka from that which would cause her pain… But he managed it. And he began again.

"I see indescribable talent and genius in the boy. He picks up everything incredibly quick, and I see in him the potential to become the greatest and most dedicated to the Art." Genma took a breath. He had run through what he had wanted to say to his wife how many times, endlessly going over points he thought should be made and shouldn't be made, what should go in what order—but now, faced with his wife's ashen gaze…

It was a gaze that made Genma feel she was reanalyzing him, as if confronted with a dream that turned into a horrific nightmare. It was a gaze that said _"who is this person that I thought I knew?"_

It almost made him stop. Almost.

But he swallowed his self-disgust.

"I plan to take him away," he repeated, lamely. "For… some time…"

Another pause.

Then she stood and left with white-knuckled fists, and he stared after her, and then the linens that covered the table, tea from the cracked cup slowly soaking the fabric.

_Genma, you fool._


End file.
